And then there were eleven...

     Once again, Stripe and her babies slept the night on the raft.  In the morning I did a head count and she only had eleven of her twelve ducklings.  Darn it.  But I'm not surprised.  I've grown to accept the fact that the only way a duck (or any animal around here) can have even a chance to learn how to deal with predators is to be attacked and have the great good luck to survive the experience.  If they can manage to make it through that first time, they instantly become a lot shrewder.  I don't expect to lose any more for awhile, but we'll see.

     I'm still puzzling over what do with our surprising excess of ducks.  I suppose that slaughtering them for the table really does make the most sense.  However, Bruce has butchered a few of our hens and there's an awful lot of work involved in getting the bird processed.  Cleaning out their insides isn't much fun, but the hardest part is the plucking. And plucking.  And plucking.  And I hear that ducks have more (and finer) down and feathers than chickens.  I haven't tasted duck in a very long time and can't remember if I even like it, so it's hard to generate too much enthusiasm for going through the whole slaughter/processing routine only to discover that, in the end, I don't want to eat it.  Can you tell that I'm waffling?

    In theory, using our own home-raised animals for food is a wonderful idea. The animals would live a good life and meet their ends in a humane manner.  In practice, though, it involves a whole lot of things that I'd rather not deal with.  Things like death.  And betrayal.  What's especially hard is reconciling the part of me that longs to do the Earth-mother thing and protect every living thing here at Frogpond with my desire to be clear-minded, logical and practical.  I think that one can learn to do both, but I'm not quite there yet.  We'll see where this goes.

Changing the subject (the crowd stands and roars!)...



    Look what sprouted up on Gopher Ridge.  Last week when I was driving to town I saw a gigantic crane hoisting this thing up in the air.  And now here this tower is looking down at us from the top of the hill.  Bruce estimates it to be around 120 feet tall.  When I first moved up here, Gopher Ridge had nothing but trees and rocks on it.  But at 840 feet, it's the first real foothill to rise from the valley so it's not surprising that over the years two small cell towers have been built.  However, those are tiny twin Davids and this thing is a giant looming GOLIATH.


Our own little Eiffel Tower

     I've been studying it through my binoculars and, so far, it seems to just be a metal frame.  I don't see any cables or dishes or anything like that.  Yet.  I suppose it will likely be getting uglier.  I'm crossing my fingers that it doesn't grow a light on the top of its pointy little head. 

Ok, enough of the sour attitude already!  Maybe if I give it a name, I can learn to love it.  This will require some thought...

Perhaps, La Tour?